


The Voice in my Ear

by Hermit9



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Sexual Fantasy, sad bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 02:18:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10777395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermit9/pseuds/Hermit9
Summary: Prompt fill : Solo pining wank session.Preferences: MCU Steve/Bucky from Bucky's perspective.





	The Voice in my Ear

It’s not like there’d been a plan or a conscious thought. It had been an endless rush forward. Forward and away, from the wartime memorial in the museum and the life-sized picture of the boy that used to be him, to the dingy apartment in Bucharest. Everything here was strange and new, except the too thin walls with the sounds of neighbors on all sides, and Steve’s voice. Steve’s voice on TV, familiar in ways that ached. When Steve was on the news, in a press conference or doing some appearance in a hospital with dying kids, Bucky felt like he could smile. If he closed his eyes the Romanian and Ukrainian shouts around him blended, he was back in Brooklyn and Steve was talking about some drawing, or he was in a barrack in the war and Steve was talking strategies. It lasted until the next segment, a minute or two later

So no, it hadn’t been a plan. It’s just that the segments were never long enough, but they could be recorded. The future was all sorts of awesome for TV technology. He could record the segments and the appearances and the press conferences. And edit them by theme. It was easy, no effort at all, to make Steve’s voice loop and last longer. And so what if it was a bit chopped and jumped around subject wise. He could make it work.

Somewhere along the line, his messed up, well-scrambled, and fried brain had decided that Steve’s voice was safe. And that safety meant he could let his guard down. Which led to some severely repressed parts of himself waking right back up. Super Soldier serum and healing be damned, he’d learnt the Romanian word for lube the second time he’d rubbed himself raw. Healing faster didn’t mean that hadn’t hurt like hell.

From there it had been easy to fall into a routine at the end of the day. Shower, three minutes or less so the hot water would last. Bucky was quite done with cold showers if he could avoid it. It wasn’t that the cold bothered him, he just reveled in having a say in the matter. Then he would strip down the cover on the bed and sit on the soft sheets _he_ had chosen out of the sales display. He’d pick one of the compilations on his phone, with the good ear buds he’d spent a month’s worth of food on. They had great noise cancellation and made voices sound more natural. Closer.

He closed his eyes, fighting the conditioning and narrowing his field of perception. His skin tingled, from the permanent drafts in the apartment and the urgent pounding in his veins. Bucky figured that's why the Winter Soldier wasn't allowed to feel horny. It was a distraction, too human and primal for the asset they’d wanted to forge. So now that the leash was off, he figured he should enjoy himself as much as he wanted to. He had seventy-odd years to catch up on.

He chased the goosebumps with the fingers of both hands, the metal one warm from the shower, the harder texture familiar and oddly comforting. Steve was talking about the war in his ear, this was one one of the speeches he had given for the museum. His voice was a little lower when he spoke of their old unit, probably from mourning. It didn’t take much mental gymnastics to shift grief to lust. 

Slowly he let his flesh hand trail down, playing with the fine hair on his lower stomach, baby fine and finally, finally growing back in. He was hard, had been since the shower, but he wanted to luxuriate in the small things, the control over his own body. If hot wax never ripped his skin off again it would still be too soon. Still, the hair was soft and supple, so that was a win. He drew little spirals and swirls downward as Steve’s voice cut to one of the front’s anecdote. The one about the barn and the pissed off chicken. Laughter was a kind of breathlessness and that was good, yes. Bucky could picture the way Steve’s eyes would sparkle, how his mouth would twitch trying to keep a straight face while telling the story. He waited for the moment when Steve caught his breath on one long inhale, wrapping his fingers around the soft skin of his erection, hissing in turn. 

He stroked himself twice, before fumbling with his other hand under the pillows, locating the lube bottle and pouring some out. The cold didn’t bother him as much as he relished the sudden slipperiness and the surge of sensations. He couldn’t make out the words in the recording anymore, but it didn’t matter. The sound was enough, he could pretend the rest, that at least one of the hands on his skin wasn’t his. The dissociation came easy. 

Bucky didn’t try to muffle his sounds, he was allowed to make noise and exist now, and the neighbors could deal with it. He could feel the pleasure building, gasping now with every breath, back arching. He was careful not to grab at anything with his metal arm, or at least not at anything that could be destroyed. The bruises he could deal with, the serum would make them fade soon enough. With a final twist of his wrist, he reached for his release, vision whiting out for a second as he caught his breath. 

With disappointment, his senses kicked back online and he reached for the washcloth on the bedside table, cleaning himself before tossing it towards the laundry hamper. He smiled weakly when he heard the muffled thud of a successful hit. Laundry was something he would need to do soon. He did some resource allotment calculations. Two days. Acceptable parameters. Bucky carefully untangled his earphone, plugged in his phone, and went to sleep.


End file.
